


you could be great (more like a great mess)

by artsyspikedhair



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Abused Harry Potter, Abusive Dursley Family (Harry Potter), Bully Draco Malfoy - Freeform, Childhood Sexual Abuse, Dementors, Dudley/Harry and Pettigrew/Ron are noncon, Flashbacks, Harry Potter is a Horcrux, Legilimency, Manipulative Albus Dumbledore, Manipulative Voldemort, Mind Manipulation, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Queer Themes, Ron Weasley is a Good Friend, Severus Snape Being a Bastard, Slytherin Harry Potter, Slytherin Rubeus Hagrid, Trust Issues, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-19
Updated: 2018-10-12
Packaged: 2019-07-14 04:13:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 28
Words: 18,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16032755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/artsyspikedhair/pseuds/artsyspikedhair
Summary: Abuse does not always make one into a flinching ball of apologies. Sometimes, to survive, you must become not only self-sacrificing, but silent.Harry Potter was raised to never allow his family to be caught lying. Harry Potter was raised to never ask questions. Harry Potter was raised in a household where his aunt was the top authority, where his word meant nothing, where the only contribution worth making was action.In a world where everyone expects something different from him, how will a boy taught from toddler-hood that defying expectations leads to pain survive? How will students and adults react to a Boy-Who-Lived-To-Never-Question-Anything?





	1. life in a normal household

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Harry's Point of View.
> 
> Each chapter I'll have a note explaining who's POV the chapter's told in, because I enjoy switching it up.

Harry James Potter was very proud to say that he usually successfully accomplished pretending to be normal, thank you very much. He lived with a family where nobody outside would ever suspect anything odd or out of the ordinary to occur within - a family that constantly was expecting something odd or freakish to occur because of Harry. But Harry, like the Dursley family he lived with, was very good at acting. 

The Dursley family - breadwinner Vernon, housewife and doting mother Petunia, and their large, active son Dudley - developed acting skills in order to convince the neighbors and society around them that any troubles in their household could always be pinned on Harry, the stealing, lying bastard son of Petunia's dropout prostitute sister who'd been killed in a car crash. "Immorality can just be inherited, mother to son, I suppose!" Petunia would cry out. "Oh, I tried and tried to steer my sister down the right path, but some people don't want to be helped! She ran away from home at seventeen, after all!" Of course, these were the stories Petunia told her gossiping lady-friends in an attempt to steer the direction of the rumor mill away from any blame of wrongdoing being pinned on her perfectly normal parenting. Harry only heard these tidbits of story about his mother by strategically making the tea and biscuits in the kitchen while they were right in the next room, handing the finished product to Dudley, who was granted far more opportunity to easedrop, as his mum never suspected Dudley would want to know about the worthless Potters, let alone want to hear the sordid, made-up details Petunia fed her neighbors when the PTA meetings hadn't caused enough drama or the Polkiss' hadn't had another all-night screaming fight. 

Dudley only used the invented backstory - not that he knew it was invented, of course - as an excuse to torment Harry in any way he knew how. And, as the ages crept upward, Dudley knew many, many ways to torment his freak cousin. Harry, for his part, used his acting skills to hold the story up - pretending to be angry at not understanding material he knew well, pretending to kick and punch at his attackers when the teachers were around but actually ensuring one never hit the intended target so he would escape real punishment at home, very obviously observing the various window locks the neighborhood-watch committee (that his uncle was in) set up. Harry learnt very early on that the fastest way to get hurt, even if Harry hadn't done a single thing to contradict what the Dursley family put out there, was for the Dursley parents to be caught in a lie. Lying was not normal, was not something anyone in their neighborhood other than the Polkiss mother did regularly. Lying was immoral, and therefore the only people who could lie with impunity were children, who obviously knew no better. 

By the time Harry turned ten, he had become a master at silently divining others' expectations. The first rule of the Dursley household, for both boys, was 'Don't ask questions'. The rule was more strictly imposed on Harry, so Harry adapted. On the week before Harry turned eleven, when he collected the mail after dodging Dudley's Smelting's stick, a letter appeared, addressed to Harry's cupboard. Harry knew very well that if his uncle or, God forbid, his aunt found out someone had written to him, he would be either beaten or locked inside his cupboard for the week, spending his eleventh birthday the way he spent his seventh, eighth, and ninth birthdays - in total darkness, the only company being the spiders he sometimes allowed to crawl on him (and sometimes, when he was extremely desperate, even ate). So Harry discreetly slipped the letter into the waistband of Dudley's sweatpants, and handed the remaining mail to his uncle. Harry then spent the day gardening, as the annual Privet Drive lawn contest would be soon approaching at the end of August.

Harry was locked in his cupboard that afternoon when his aunt spied him pouring a small amount of water from the watering can into his mouth. Harry had never been told not to drink from the watering can, although he had been told not to steal tap water or befoul their supply of plastic water bottles, but he took his punishment silently, stoic as his aunt rained abuse on him before bodily shoving into the cupboard hard enough he hit his head on the pipe along the wall that framed the stairs away from the door. 

His aunt had, at the beginning of the summer, unscrewed his light bulb within the cupboard, as she decided that summer that, because summer meant no homework or any outside adults' observation, he would have no use for it. Harry still read the letter with the light from the outside hallway that seeped in under the door. 

Hogwarts? Magic? What was all this? A spider fell onto Harry's head and began crawling around Harry's hair. Harry sighed, hoping he hadn't gotten lice. He'd pen a response after a nap.


	2. Letters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Harry's POV and McGonagall's POV

Harry forgot to write the return letter to Hogwarts. He had been woken from his nap by his uncle standing over him, door to the cupboard wide open.

"Up, boy, up! I don't know why we deal with your laziness, up!" Harry blearily opened his eyes and stood, knowing otherwise his uncle would shake him awake. "Dudley wants your services, and don't forget what happens if you refuse - the organ market fetches great prices these days." Harry sprinted up the stairs, dreading what he was expected to do but forcibly blanking his mind. It was better to be nonexistent, to not be aware of what was happening when Dudley wanted his services.

In a castle up in Scotland, a woman sat at her desk, looking over the list of names for the coming year. She'd visit all the Muggleborns eventually, as she had once been one herself, half a century ago. But for now she looked over the wizard-born recipients. Most had yet to open their letters, but Harry Potter had. No response yet. She'd wait a day or two, the boy might be busy with birthday celebrations, after all.

Days passed, and Harry forgot about the envelope sitting under his mattress. Minerva McGonagall grew anxious, and sent more letters - letters Harry's uncle had found. He hid them from his wife, not wanting to upset his dear Petunia with anything from _that_ world. The only overt response the letter evoked was a harsh increase in Harry's chores, a large number of new rules he had broken despite being unaware of their existence, and a great many new wounds and bruises covering the boy's body, including some in rather private areas.

Minerva became frightened as Harry Potter's birthday passed with yet no response written, let alone sent -she had magic that alerted her to the opening of the response envelope included with each acceptance letter. She asked her boss what to do, and he told her she ought to have begun visiting Muggleborns by now. So Minerva let the situation go, sending out only twelve new letter hidden in the eggs in 4 Privet Drive's refrigerator.

Unfortunately for Harry, his aunt wanted an omelette that evening. She read the letter, and soon bruises and wounds were not even the least of Harry's worries. His hair pulled out by his aunt's furious rage, he was locked in the cupboard for the rest of the month. No food, no water, no bathroom. If he died she would throw a party, she whispered in a voice that made Harry wish she'd been shouting. He deserved to be thrown into the streets. No other family would have kept him alive this long, but her generosity had been spent. The Dursley family would be leaving on a vacation for the rest of August. Hopefully by the time they returned, the freak would be dead.

Minerva distracted with the upcoming school year, Dumbledore sent Hagrid over to 4 Privet Drive the third week of August. He arrived at what appeared to be an empty house.


	3. Hagrid

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hagrid's POV and Harry's POV

BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! 

Hagrid's knocks were not met with any response, and the Muggle contraption they use to get around was not in the driveway. Glancing about, Hagrid pointed his umbrella at the door and whispered the unlocking charm. 

Harry had been unconscious for the past two days, his body finally given out after living solely on spiders for three weeks. Still, the pounding footsteps of the giant roused him, and he hoarsely pleaded, "Uncle? Dudley? I'll be good now, I promise. Please don't let me die here." 

Hagrid heard the boy's pleas, although they made little sense to the giant, and, seeing the padlocked cupboard, whispered yet another unlocking charm, grateful the Ministry had undone its tracking charms after his expulsion. "Harry? Wha're yeh doin' in there?" 

Harry must be hallucinating. His uncle had never been that hairy, or had such an odd accent. Still, Harry couldn't ignore a direct question. "Aunt Petunia locked me in here once she found the letter. She left me here to die." 

"Eh? Well, then, yeh mus' be starvin'! I brough' sausages!" Hagrid figured the boy must be exaggerating, although he did look awfully peaky. Hagrid grabbed the sausages out of his pocket, and Harry, not exactly caring about hygiene after two weeks of spider meat, ferociously gobbled one down. 

"Well, then, now that yer fed, I've come to help yeh ready yerself for Hogwarts." 

"You-what?" Harry scanned the tall man's face, but the entire expression reeked of sincerity, so Harry went along with him. He wasn't going to raise his expectations high enough to expect actually going to such a miraculous school, but he had actual food, and was released from the place he was formerly certain would be his tomb. His eyes were still adjusting to the light. Still, one must never be presumptuous, not after he'd been given food without any obvious strings attached. "I-I haven't any money, sir." 

"Bank's our firs' stop. Before we go, though, may I 'ave a cuppa? Been quite a journey!" 

Harry rushed into the kitchen, relieved to be back in the world of tasks. His balance was still precarious, but he held himself upright with the stovetop as he busied himself with the tea kettle. He was not to faint again


	4. Leaving

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Harry's POV

After Hagrid finished a few cups of tea and Harry wolfed down another sausage, they were ready to go. "Yeh migh' wanna bring yer belongin's, though. Dumbledore'll have me 'ead if I let yeh stay 'ere unsupervised for another week." 

Harry went back to his cupboard and began throwing clothes in his knapsack. He wondered who Dumbledore was. He absently thought about stealing some of Dudley's old books, but the second bedroom held too many nasty memories and he doubted he could make it up the stairs without showing weakness. He could tell Hagrid hadn't believed that he'd been locked in the cupboard for the past two weeks, and that was fine by him. Shoving in his sewing kit he'd gotten as a birthday gift from Mrs. Figg a few years ago, Harry was packed. 

"Odd place to sleep, a cupboard. Though 'tis dark, I suppose. When'd yeh chose ter move in there?" Hagrid let the younger boy into an alley, and Harry began wondering if he shouldn't have taken the sausage. If Hagrid expected Harry to service him the way he did Dudley, Harry didn't think he'd be able to. His bum still hurt from before and the man looked massive. Harry stopped worrying as he realized the giant wanted a response. 

"Er, couple years ago? I'd been interested in medieval times, and the cupboard reminded me of the serval chambers kids used to sleep in there." Harry prided himself on the lie. Hagrid, naive and unaware of Muggle culture or history in the slightest, bought the story easily. Hagrid then stuck his umbrella out into the street, and almost immediately an odd purple bus shot forward. 

"Welcome to the Knight Bus, I'm your driver, Stan Shunpike. Where am I taking you today?" 

"Gringotts, Diagon Alley," Hagrid replied, handing the man some rounded gold coins. 


	5. Gringotts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mostly Harry's POV

Harry enjoyed a hot chocolate on his first-ever bus ride, courtesy of Hagrid. Hagrid spend the entire ride knitting some yellow tent-sized thing Harry chose not to ask him about. Within ten minutes, they arrived at their destination. 

"Thank you Mr. Shunpike." Harry thanked the bus driver. 

"Yeah, thanks," Hagrid said, not wanting to be out-polited by an eleven year old. Harry's eyes boggled at the sheer amount of color and movement in front of them. This was a bank? 

"Welcome to Gringotts, the wizardin' bank. 'S run by goblins, so yeh wanna be nice ter 'em." 

Short, concrete-colored creatures with wrinkled faces manned the counters. They had name tags, which Harry appreciated. One named Griphook manned the counter he and Hagrid approached. "Key?" 

Hagrid handed Griphook the key. "Also I'll need to collect you-know-what in Vault 713." Hagrid said in an attempted whisper. 

"Key?" Griphook asked again. Hagrid rummaged about his pockets, but no key emerged. 

"Er, sorry 'bou' tha'. I'll come by some utter time'n." Griphook nodded, and led the two to a cart that then blasted off with a speed so fast Harry vomited once the ride was over. 

"S-sorry," Harry coughed out, and attempted to wipe the puke off the stone floor with one of his shirts, but the goblin merely waved a hand over the entire mess, vanishing it. The shirt vanished too, but Harry was afraid to ask for it back. 

"Blood, please." The goblin said, expecting Harry to know what he meant. Harry scratched at one of the wounds on his chest, and blood dripped down. Griphook placed a cold hand on Harry's rib, collecting the blood. "That's not how clients typically do that, but it appears you are indeed Harry James Potter, son of Lily Evans-Potter and James Cornelius Potter." 

Harry, who'd never known his parents' names before, grinned widely. Hagrid helped him pick out what coins he'd need, telling him what each one meant. Then the goblin sped off again, cart screeching. Harry held in his nausea, and the ride soon ended. 

Harry handed the goblin a sickle. "For helping me," he explained. "Thank you for your excellent service, and I hope to see you again sometime." The goblin responded with an equally wide grin, exposing sharp teeth that revealed the diet of goblins definitely included chewing on bones of some kind. 

"Tha' was very kind of yeh, Harry! The goblins'll like yeh fer tha'. Now yeh need books, robes, an' a wand. What'd yeh wan' firs'?" 

Harry shrugged and muttered "I dunno." Hagrid could sense the boy wanted some alone time and offered to meet him back in front of the bank. 

"I need a drink teh settle me stomach," Hagrid claimed, leaving Harry to explore the wizarding village by himself. 


	6. Diagon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Harry's POV

Harry found the letter smushed in the bottom of his knapsack. Harry looked over the list of supplies, and decided to buy a potions supply kit first. 

The store was easy to find, and the scents of various pickled organs assaulted Harry's nostrils. He appeared to be the only student shopping, the only other customer a tall, pale man in black robes with a hooked nose and long, greasy-looking black hair. Harry observed the layout of the store before making his way over to the plants he'd need for first year. 

Harry loved the entire concept of potions - liquids that could cure you of ailments, or turn you into something else, or cause changes in behavior... He was torn between purchasing some supplemental books on the subject or giving into his first, rather childish impulse of buying a solid gold cauldron, when the other customer bumped into him rather hard, sending the small boy tumbling into the metal shelves with a clatter. 

"Sorry!" Harry apologized, unsure whether he was talking to the other customer or the owner. He heaved himself upright rather quickly, and got to work righting the cauldrons and supplies back onto the shelves. The man observed him, rather curious at this small boy shopping alone in a potion supply shop. 

"Allow me," the man offered, rearranging the plants back into their original positions. 

"'m sorry, sir. Didn't mean to disrupt your shopping." 

"Nonsense, boy, I bumped into you. You shopping for Hogwarts?" 

"Yessir. It'll be my first year." 

"Well, then, I hope you'll enjoy it." The man did not at all appear sincere in his remarks, but Harry pretended to take him at face value. "I will be your Potions Professor there. You may call me Professor Snape." The professor left out a hand for Harry to shake. 

"I'm Harry." Harry shook the man's hand, fruitlessly trying to will the sweat off his own. His hair then fell into his eye, and as he moved his other hand to fix it, he accidentally revealed his scar. The professor's distaste became immediately more apparent. 

"Harry Potter, I see. I hope you do not have any... foolish accidents in my class. I will not tolerate such behavior." Robes swooping, the man left to purchase his ingredients. Harry had the distinct feeling he had missed something important, but shook it off. 

Once Professor Snape had left, Harry continued collecting his supplies and purchased them. He then decided to buy robes. 

"Hogwarts, dearie? Have a seat, that one's for Hogwarts as well." The owner, Madam Malkins, gestured to an aristocratic-looking blonde who appeared to be pouting. Harry sat on the stool next to him, desperately hoping he wouldn't be expected to make small talk. 

"First year too?" No such luck. Harry nodded, and the blonde continued. "I do hate that they don't allow us to bring our brooms first year. I'm thinking I might bully Father into letting me bring mine anyway." Harry hummed in apparent agreement, secretly simply hoping to end the conversation. The boy reminded Harry uncomfortably of Dudley, and their legs were almost touching. 

"What house do you think you'll be in?" the blonde continued, and Harry decided to deflect. Never show you lack knowledge, that's the first rule of handling bullies. 

"I met our Potions Professor over in the shop." The fabric suddenly began flying around Harry, despite no measurements having been taken. Magic, he thought, was a serious time-saver. 

"Slytherin, then?" Harry nodded, still ignorant of what they were actually discussing. "I will be as well. My whole family has been, except my aunt Bellatrix, who was a Hufflepuff. She wasn't a complete disgrace, though, as she became the Dark Lord's consort." 

"Dark Lord?" Harry forgot himself. 

"Voldemort. He fought to enslave all Muggle scum and remove those who befoul our culture with their taint. You are one of us, right?" 

Harry sighed, utterly confused. "No, I'm not," he said, simply wanting to be contrary. Fortunately, his robes were finished quickly after that and he paid and left in silence. 

Hagrid found him outside the shop, and explained the whole Voldemort thing over ice cream. Hagrid had been a Slytherin before he was expelled, but he hated what the house had become. "Ambition 'n' cunnin' are traits ter be proud of, but yer blood ain't go' anythin' ter do wit' et." 

Harry and Hagrid spent the night in Hagrid's hut after Flooing through the Leaky Cauldron. "Tomorrow, books 'n'a familiar." 

Harry slept on his clothes on the dirt floor of the hut, but he had never felt happier.


	7. Train and Sorting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Harry's POV and small bits of Ron's and Draco's as well

The days passed quickly in the wizarding world, each one filled with more new information than Harry ever imagined he could adjust himself to, but eventually did. Harry bought books and ate sweets, explored the grounds with Hagrid and Muggle London without supervision. He had the most fun he could've ever imagined himself having. The time felt almost like a real vacation, which Harry had never experienced before, but soon enough September 1st arrived and Harry was running cart-first into a brick wall. 

Hagrid had told him that all first years arrive to Hogwarts via Express, regardless of how close they lived to the castle, and he wouldn't want to be the odd one out. Harry figured he already would be the odd one out, but found an empty compartment nonetheless. He could finish reading Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them, and maybe reread some of the textbooks if he failed to make any friends. 

"Can I sit here? All the rest are full?" A red headed boy significantly taller than Harry stood in the door frame. Harry beckoned him in, not wanting him to block the aisle. "Thanks. My name's Ron, Ron Weasley." He stuck out a hand. Harry shook. The hand was sticky, but the boy appeared friendly. 

"Harry Potter." Harry parted his bangs in anticipation of the question on Ron's mind, 'can I see the scar?' His scar was always his favorite feature, even now after discovering it made him immediately recognizable. 

"Cool! Do you think your scar might be shaped that way because of the wand movements for Avada Kedavra?" Ron asked, hoping to spark a conversation. 

"Maybe, I dunno. The spell's not exactly First Year Charms material!" Both boys laughed, partly out of anxiety. Ron then showed Harry a spell his brothers had taught him. His rat was supposed to turn yellow after the incantation was said, but nothing happened. Ron blamed his hand-me-down wand. Harry sympathized, having spent a lifetime living off of hand-me-downs. Conversation flowed quickly, and a fast friendship was forming. 

Twice during the train ride the boys were interrupted. First, a girl barged in asking about a toad. Second, Draco Malfoy and his two best friends walked in hoping to start a fight. "Red hair, hand-me-down clothes, let me guess. You must be a Weasley! You'll soon find, Potter, that some families are better than others. You wouldn't want to go about fraternizing with the wrong sort. I can help with that," the arrogant boy introduced himself, forgetting they had met at the robe shop. Harry ignored the outstretched hand, instead reading more of Fantastic Beasts. 

"Have you ever heard of doxies?" Harry asked Ron, provoking Draco and co. to leave in frustration. 

"Yeah, we had an infestation last year. That, by the way, was brilliant, how you handled Malfoy!" 

"He didn't appear violent." Harry didn't elaborate, letting his judgement stand alone. Weasley began monologue-ing about their families' blood feud. 

Harry was not surprised by Hogwarts, having lived outside of it for a week, and he internally smirked at his fellow first year's reactions to the castle. 

The professor McGonagall reminded Harry sharply of his aunt, an unpleasant resemblance after a week spent pretending he had no family. The Sorting Hat was interesting, though, and the song would stick in Harry's head for a while. 

"Potter, Harry" cried out McGonagall, and, unbeknownst to Harry, a worried set of eyes followed the boy up the stage along with all the awed curious ones. The large hat covered Harry's entire face, evoking some laughter from the crowd, Dumbledore included. 

"Interesting, very interesting. Certainly courageous, and not a bad mind, either. Definite thirst to prove yourself, oh yes." 

"Please let me stay here. Place me somewhere they won't touch me, I don't want another Dudley" 

"Definitely not Gryffindor, then. Shame, but given the history, your desires are understandable. Well, you could be great in SLYTHERIN!" 

Harry threw the hat off his head in alarm at the shouting. Great? More like a great mess, he thought, as his feet carried him over to the table housing Malfoy. Glimpsing around for any potential friend, Harry found none, and sat himself by some older students. Hopefully dinner would be soon, Harry thought, and wondered why the Hat had pictured Ron's rat when Harry had thought about Dudley. Ron was sorted into Gryffindor - maybe he was a Dudley? He hadn't seemed the type, but Dudley never appeared vicious either, not around friends.


	8. Slytherin Rules

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Harry's POV and Cassius Warrington's. 
> 
> Also this chapter begins a story-wide trend of Severus Snape Being A Bastard, specifically relating to the Snape/James and co. rivalry.  
> That tag exists for a reason, and wasn't used lightly. He will have his moments, but as with canon, Snape is Not The Good Guy here. You don't have to be good to do right, and Snape is the epitome of that, as the vast majority of his actions are nasty but he did save Harry's skin a few times.

Dinner proceeded uneventfully. Dumbledore gave what, if the older Slytherins' comments were anything to go by, appeared to be his yearly speech of nonsense. Food magically appeared on the tables. "The House Elves really outdone themselves this year," a boy known as Warrington commented. Harry ate until he ceased to be hungry, an occurrence that never happened back home. He warily eyed the room, keeping attention on his peripheral vision, but the other first years ignored him. After dinner, one of the older students sitting by Harry led the first years to their dorms.

The Slytherin Common Room was a cornucopia of grays and greens. Couches lined the glass walls, and the room appeared to be under water. Harry sat on the floor, back against the wall, book in hands, waiting for instructions. Soon, the other eleven year olds' chattering ended, and the man from the Potion shop entered. Snape, Harry remembered. The man's name was Snape, and he was a Professor of Potions.

"Welcome," the man announced, robes billowing behind him, "To Slytherin. We are an ancient House, known for cunning and ambition. Laziness will not be tolerated here. I expect you all" here the man aimed a glare that caused a shiver to run through Harry, and the small boy peered behind him with his peripheral vision, hoping maybe a mermaid was making faces at the man, but none were. "To keep your dormitories neat, and keep all arguments among yourselves _civil_. We are not dunderhead Gryffindors, we do not fight like rabid animals, do you understand?" The ten-ish students Snape addressed all nodded.

Harry, foolishly forgetting to keep quiet, let out a timid, "yes sir," before realizing he had been the only one to answer verbally. He hunched in on himself, knees protecting his organs. Forget I said anything, don't notice me, please don't notice me, please no yelling, please - Harry's silent pleas enlisted his magic to unconsciously cast a Notice-Me-Not charm. Snape continued listing the rules of the dormitory, attention now aimed at the Purebloods as he explained his "no slurs, including use of the word Mudblood, do I make myself clear?!" policy. Heads nodded, but the Potions Master knew slurs would be thrown about within the first month, regardless of what the impulsive first years promised. Harry stayed tense at the barked, clipped, hostile-sounding questions.

"Now, our Prefects, Adrian Pucey and Cassias Warrington, will lead you all to your dormitories." Adrian, a tall, athletic girl who wore her Slytherin tie in her hair, began leading the girls to their dorm down one hallway. The other boys all stood in front of Cassias, waiting. Harry, dissociating, remained curled on the floor.

"Potter!" Snape spat out, not having time for this foolishness. Potter flinched, shoulder hitting the glass, before jumping to his feet. Warrington pretended not to have been watching, wondering why Potter had been sorted into Slytherin at all. The Sorting Hat must've known Snape's hatred of James Potter, everyone who's ever served a detention with Snape eventually had to sort out the detention slips the man kept as mementos of what disgusting brutes the auror and his friends had been as children. Warrington led the boys down another hallway, door at the end. All same-sex year-mates shared a dorm, except for the transgenders who got their own mixed-year dorm because Snape didn't want to deal with the rest of the house's transphobic bigotry. The first year boys this year were Vincent Crabbe, Greg Goyle, Draco Malfoy, Theodore Nott, Harry Potter, and Blaise Zabini. Warrington guessed Zabini would eventually end up in the transgender dorm - Zabini gave off the same aura the girl who lived in his dorm first year had.

Harry went straight to bed, ignoring the taunts of "Are you actually sleeping in your clothes, Potter?" from Malfoy, and the response of "Maybe he's like Weasley, can't afford any clothes other than his robes," from Goyle. Harry didn't want to know what they'd have to say about his Muggle rags, and he did want to hear what they would say when they forgot he was there, which happened rather quickly. Harry lay in bed, sounds of gossip regarding Greengrass developing breasts and Quirrell secretly having been brained by a zombie in Albania washing over him. His last memory of the night was Zabini explaining to Nott that he thought his mum might've cannibalized her third husband. Harry slept well, an actual bed immensely more comfortable than Hagrid's dirt floor.


	9. first impressions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All the professors of importance (McGonagall, Sprout, Flitwick, Snape, Quirrell/Voldemort, and Dumbledore's) express their views in this chapter, as does Harry.  
> Severus Snape Being A Bastard applies here, although this chapter specifically he is Severus Snape Being A Surprised and Traumatized Bastard.

Harry James Potter was nothing like the professors had expected. 

Minerva had her suspicions when she had caught glimpses of the boy with Hagrid that first week, but the eve of the Sorting, before she had even introduced the hat, she knew with certainty Harry was not a Gryffindor. He'd taken one look at her and began creeping behind others, trying to distance himself from - her? the Sorting? attention? She wasn't sure. He was significantly shorter than either James or Lily had been at that age. When his name was called, he walked with trepidation. He trembled before her on the stool, hands shaking, and she made care not to touch him as she placed the Sorting Hat upon. She had decades of experience watching students get sorted before her. Most mouthed the words they said to the Hat, if not outright whispering. Harry was silent throughout, and Minerva clapped slowly and sadly for him. Slytherin might make the boy great, but their cruelty could also tear him to pieces. She'd been hoping for Hufflepuff, but Sorty knew what they were doing. 

Snape, on other hand, had been surprised. He had begun the year so certain Gryffindor would end the House Cup race dead last with all the points he planned to steal from the spoiled Potter brat, but no! Damned boy had to sort himself into the one place Snape couldn't outwardly punish him for being, lest his hypocrisy regarding the House Cup he'd rigged for his Snakes for the past seven years be let out into the light. Snape scowled, and decided to attempt Legilmency on the boy, who already thought himself too good for the other first years. The stupid brat was only thinking about food - had some delusion about eating spiders and a cupboard. "Never seen this much food in my life! Eat slowly, Harry, you've lived off spiders most of summer - can't end up puking out nutrients once you've got 'em." Stupid, delusional boy, thinking all of Hogwarts'll be a feast. 

Snape knew damn well the boy was having a panic attack that night. Served him right, he thought, mind still twenty years in the past as he hid in bathroom stalls from Potter and Black, as Potter hexed him black and blue, as they exposed him in front of half the school... All Potter in his House ended up doing was giving him flashbacks. The Hat must hate him. 

Quirrell and Voldemort hadn't been surprised that Voldemort's murderer shared his House. No, their joint surprise didn't occur until midway through the feast, when Potter observed the staff table from afar and Quirrell felt his brain pushing forward into his skull. 

The surprise thereafter was in how stoic the boy took the pain. Voldemort had recognized the headache for the pull between Horcruxes it was, and any normal eleven year old would be crying and screaming for a nurse, but Potter simply sat in the front, taking notes in some Muggle invention. Voldemort tried Legilmizing the child a few times as Quirrell ran the body through one of their boring lectures, only to find Potter actually thinking about the contents of the lecture - the physics of the kinetic energy inherent in the Blasting Curse - while almost entirely dissociating from the pain. Voldemort found his Horcrux easily thanks to the dissociation, but knew stealing his soul back would cause such excruciating agony the boy's classmates would notice. No, he'd manage the headaches, wait for a more convenient time. 

Professor Sprout declared the boy a prodigy, second only to Neville Longbottom. She did wonder where Harry grew up, though, as he did all his planting the Muggle way. He tensed in discomfort when she asked him how he learned to pot plants so well, however, so she left it be. He was probably embarrassed, if he had grown up with Muggles. Being new to wizarding world and in Slytherin was not an easy path to trod. 

Professor Flitwick worried. Harry's essays were routinely far better organized than his peers, a common theme among those who went to Muggle primary schools, and his practical applications were Acceptable, but he consistently Trolled his written exams. If the problem didn't fix itself come October, he'd set up a meeting. 

Dumbledore fretted. How could he trick a Slytherin into entering the third floor corridor? He still kept his Chattering Compulsion Hex on Hagrid, though, just in case. He also ordered the elves to spike Harry's food (once on his plate) with Nutrient Potions. Nobody can save the world looking like the walking set of bones Harry entered Hogwarts in! 

Harry had never slept a healthy amount in his life, so when he finally had access to a bed he wouldn't be punished for tainting, he slept forty-eight hours straight, missing the orientation day and his first day of classes. His dorm mates refused to wake him, lest Snape think they were /friends/ with the Boy-Who-Lived. Vincent Crabbe felt a little guilty about the concept, as at home he'd be punished by having his drink spiked with Dreamless Sleep, but Harry found his way to classes once he woke up without even asking for directions, so he mustn't've needed orientation anyway. 

September passed in a blur of magic, and Harry could usually pretend he'd never had a life before Hogwarts. Snape spent a good portion of his time suffering from James-Potter-related flashbacks, and gave out an undeserved number of Trolls and Dreadfuls to Potter (and most of the upper-year Gryffindors as well). Harry didn't notice or care that he didn't have any friends. He was too busy learning all he could, having bought Muggle nonfiction books his week of freedom as well as Wizard ones.


	10. Library

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Harry POV first, then Hermione's

Because Harry had no friends, he had ample free time to roam around the castle. That is, after he finished the first day work and ensuing homework he missed because his roommates refused to wake him up. Harry wondered why he slept longer at Hogwarts than he ever had at home -er, Privet Drive, that is. Hogwarts was his home now, lack of friends and all. He figured maybe having more food might've made his body tired with all the digesting, or maybe his magic was tired after the strain of keeping him alive for three weeks without water and needed the rest even after a week of Hagrid's tea. 

To prevent another incident, the first charm he learned was an alarm charm, after Professor Flitwick heard out his frantic apologies. Harry was embarrassed later, but at least he had enough common sense to know he was not going to be expelled. Expulsion comes with serious crimes, like when Dudley was expelled from the private preschool for pushing one of his classmates out the emergency exit of a moving bus, or if some underage children tried to drive a car or something. 

Harry's classes were fascinating, even Potions - he was used to being regularly insulted by teachers, unlike his former-friend-now-acquaintance Ron, who would sometimes go up to Harry in the halls and let him know how unfair Snape was being, or call Snape out in class, earning detention after detention; Harry bore the insults stoically, writing down the important information despite Snape's barbed comments about doodling and inadequate attention to the lectures - but after the first two weeks, he had read through all the books he had bought at Flourish & Botts. Considering how reading muggle science books in the common room would be asking for a beating, (Harry was surprised he'd only suffered one, which ended shortly after Mcgonagall saw Goyle foregoing spells entirely and kicking Harry in the testes. Goyle got a month of detention and lost points that were immediately re-earned the next Potions class.) Harry felt profoundly lucky he had been able to successfully follow some older Ravenclaws to the library. 

Soon, he could be found there whenever he wasn't at class or meals. The only person who spent more time in the library was the Muggleborn Gryffindor Hermione Granger. Harry only knew her name because Theodore Nott could be heard moaning it in his wet dreams, along with shouts of "Yes you mudblood cunt". None of the other boys mentioned it so Harry didn't either, but he wished they learned silencing charms already. Hermione also occasionally brought her Muggle books to the library. Madam Pince, one of the only responsible adults in the castle, kicked out anyone who made disparaging remarks about reading choices. 

Hermione noticed Harry too. Admittedly, it was impossible not to notice the-boy-who-lived, but she saw the small things too. Harry never checked books out. He snatched them off the shelves one at a time, as though he thought someone might hurt him for taking one, and when he finished, he returned it to its place in the stacks, not the return shelf (which would teleport the books to their spots anyway). Hermione noticed he never relaxed, always on the lookout even while reading, even when he was the only Slytherin in the room, even when they were the only two in the room. His eyes tracked her movements when she walked about the library, as though trying to ensure she still wasn't there /for him./ 

Harry Potter must have PTSD, Hermione figured. She had it herself after years of bullying, and she wondered whether it was from his almost-murder as a baby or something else. Once her curiosity was satisfied, she ignored the famous boy, which made Harry relax minutely. Harry hated eyes on him. Harry loved learning magic, though, and that included reading books about it, so he tolerated the semi-public territory of the library.


	11. Ron

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ron's, duh

Ron Weasley genuinely had no idea what to make of Harry Potter.

The-Boy-Who-Lived he grew up hearing fables about was not the boy he shared a compartment with, who was not what his brothers had trained him to believe all Slytherins were: rude, obnoxious bullies who flaunt their wealth and power at every opportunity. Harry seemed to be unaware of the Potter fortune, and as for power, he acted as though he was used to having none. He did, however, deal with Malfoy and the goon squad (who _were_ all that his brothers warned him about Slytherins) in such a way that Ron envied, that such blase dismissing of his presence. How had Harry known that would hurt Malfoy far more than any insult? Ron was raised on lore about the Malfoy ego, but Harry only used intuition.

Ron lived most of his life envying others, mostly his brothers and Ginny, but the feelings before Hogwarts were nothing like the all-encompassing ache of something _more_ that came with Harry Potter. Ron, in what must've been the fastest change of heart in eternity, begged the Hat for Slytherin, but the Hat thought something about a promise, about Scabbers and Houses not meaning home, before deciding Ron's open-mindedness still signified the bravery and chivalry of his predecessors.

Ron's feelings towards Harry Potter were - complicated, to say the least. Sometimes he found himself wanting friendship so badly he actually attempted conversation, but mostly he lived in shame. What he thought about Slytherins, what Harry must think about him and his new housemates. Ron got on with Seamus and Dean fine, but more often than not, he found himself secretly sympathizing with Neville Longbottom, searching for a sense of self-worth he was never going to find in his relatives' shadow.

Ron fell asleep with Scabbers on top of him, most nights. Sometimes he'd think he'd woken up, but then his dreams morphed Scabbers into some fat middle-aged man fondling his prick the same way he did when he wanked. Ron hated those dreams, but Scabbers still felt like comfort, a piece of home that, despite being yet another hand-me-down, was really only loved by him. Ron wished, as he stroked the rat's soft fur, he hadn't bad-mouthed the creature to Harry. Ron wished his weird transformation dreams ended with Scabbers turning into Harry, eyes green and smiling behind his taped up glasses, laughing the way he had on the train.

But years of anti-Slytherin remarks don't fade over days, and Ron was already the main target of most of Fred's pranks (George was trying to find a way to trick the Bloody Baron, an impossible feat). So Ron watched, in the Joint Gryffindor-Slytherin Charms and Potions classes. He watched, yet again envious, when Harry took to the sky against Malfoy in defense of Ron's friend, Neville. Neville, who Ron visited in the Hospital Wing immediately after class dispersed, only half-listening to the blonde's monologue about how brooms come from gravity-resistant trees, mind still reeling from when Harry Potter handed Ron the Rememberall to return to Neville, and their fingers touched for second until Harry realized and stepped backward, almost in shock or fear. Ron returned the Rememberall, and quelled his guilt by challenging Neville to chess match after chess match until the blonde finally bested the redhead.

Ron watched and listened when Flitwick told Harry to stay after class, pretending to be gathering parchment he'd intentionally dropped. He heard Flitwick's concerned remarks about if Harry was intentionally sabotaging his tests, heard Harry's "I'm not allowed to do well on tests at home," saw Flitwick's confusion as he gently let Harry know that the professors want Harry to try his best in all aspects of school, tests included, and his aunt and uncle would never be notified regarding his grades. Ron saw Harry deflate in the hallway, as though he'd been expecting to be derailed, disbelieved the same way Snape would've disbelieved him. Ron spent the next class lost in thought, prick hard but mind dismal as he considered all he knew about Harry Potter's home life.

No friendship emerged, however, until the day Ron finally became fed up with being the worst in class _again_ , with being paired with a girl he tolerated rather than the boy he maybe-fancied, with nights of nightmares that felt real and wrong wrong **wrong** , and Ron snapped. Not in class, but afterwards. "She's a nightmare, honestly. It's no wonder she hasn't any friends." The remark was to Seamus, who was always up for insulting girls. The remark was overheard by Hermione, who ran off crying, and Harry, who looked down as he walked to his next class.

The day was Halloween, and a friendship was to be forged.


	12. Halloween

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Voldemort's POV, then Harry's, then Hermione's.  
> Flashbacks, internalized victim-blaming, and fires occur in this chapter. Be safe.

The Dark Lord had been plotting for months on how to steal his soul back. Although he had succeeded in sneaking into the Slytherin dorms and snagging a belonging of Lucius Malfoy's to place in his Polyjuice Potion, the Potion still took months to brew. He did Legilmize the Potter brat a few times, but the boy had, it appeared, began to study the Library's very few texts on Occlumency. Quirrell disliked having total control over the body anyway - he'd agreed to host the Lord in exchange for death once Voldemort regained his body - and Voldemort did not want to make the boy capable of identifying foreign presences in his mind lest he eject the Horcrux before the Dark Lord extracted it, so the Legimency attacks ended. Potter did occasionally, after Voldemort removed Voldemort's mind from his, cease his dissociation and give in to the pain, asking Quirrell for a pass to the Hospital Wing for a Headache Draught.

Voldemort never in his wildest dreams expected to have to see the Potter boy on Halloween, but in his disembodied state behind Quirrell's skull, Voldemort observed the brat. Breakfast, the boy charmed the plate before he ate. A suspicious one, impossible to poison. Harry Potter did not show up to the Halloween Feast.

Harry was, admittedly, having the best Halloween of his life. Normally Halloween consisted of Dudley and Piers poisoning candy and then tricking him into eating it. When Harry grew sly enough to catch on to Dudley's tricks, Dudley would pull the trump card: "Mommy, mommy, the freak won't accept my present!"

Then Petunia would throw whatever was in her hand at him (usually a pumpkin, a few years she threw knives. Usually Harry dodged them, but he has scars from when it hit) and, after a tirade about what an ingrate he was, Harry would have to eat the candy. Then he'd be sent off to do his chores, decorating the house to look haunted, until he inevitably vomited or passed out. His magic and/or the prophecy saved him from dying, so he'd be locked in the cupboard by the time he came to. November 1st he'd spend cleaning up his own vomit, usually, and trying to steal tastes from the discarded wrappers Dudley left about.

So Halloween at Hogwarts was an upgrade, in that he was almost certain his food wouldn't be tampered with (he learned spells that could tell if it had, but they were for upper years so sometimes his magic got confused and vanished the food instead). But he did hear pointed comments from his dorm-mates.

"Today's the day my father got arrested after the Lord fell. Thanks a lot, Potty."- Theodore Nott.

"Must be terrible to not have any family to help with your costumes. Oh wait! Sorry, scarhead, I was being _insensitive_ " - Draco, last bit sarcastic.

Crabbe and Goyle simply pushed him into walls more often that day, while Blaise Zabini left him alone. Blaise grew up with no knowledge of the war, as his mum had been in Italy for most of the 1970s and '80s. Harry still felt profoundly melancholy, knowing for the first time this was the exact day he became an orphan. This day, eleven years ago, ruined every shred of happiness he may have had for the first ten years of life. (Harry was exaggerating, but he felt dramatic. He had never been allowed to openly express emotions before, as his aunt and uncle would see sadness as attitude, anger as reason for punishment, happiness as laughing at them or disrespecting their authority. Harry felt entitled to some hyperbole)

Harry finally broke down after Charms class, hearing his in-another-universe-maybe-friend Ron Weasley belittle the Granger girl. "No wonder she hasn't any friends!" Laughter followed, although the redhead looked as though he was hiding a similar amount of misery as Harry. Harry looked away, blinking back tears.

Don't think about the fact you have no friends either, don't think about the useless stupid impossible hope for friendship you rescue every time the Weasley so much as looks at you, don't think about Hermione and your stupid daydreams of maybe walking up to her and talking, don't think about guilty looking blue eyes that - after Potions - would look at you with a maybe-attracted gaze. Think about your parents, who died because of the stupid Slytherins you live with. Think about what a mistake the Hat must've made. The mistake you made in asking not to be molested. You should feel grateful to be touched at all, stop wishing for love. Would his parents have loved him?

Harry was crying and out of it and he couldn't see the restroom he entered wasn't the boys'. He did, however, hear someone else crying.

Hermione was on the toilet but decent/clothed, crying and trying fruitlessly to end the barrage of flashbacks assaulting her mind. She had no friends, she was too "antisocial and created an unsafe environment for other students" (said the letter explaining her first primary school's expulsion to her parents. She was not supposed to have read it.) She was miscast as a trouble maker who deliberately made others look bad; she- heard some else crying?

"Hello?" Hermione asked, before stepping out of the stall. Harry Potter sat under a sink, knees on his chest rocking back and forth. His eyes were closed.

Harry opened his eyes, and Hermione Granger looked at him, concerned. "I- my parents died today. I couldn't go to the feast, and I was spiraling and I didn't know this was the girls' bathroom-"

"It's fine, you're okay," she said, and gently touched him on the shoulder in an attempt to comfort. Harry stilled, dissociating again.

Thoughts: Let him do what he wants with you, you asked for it by being such a freak the boys wanted to know if you were a freak "down there" too. Piers or just Dudley? Dudley'll be fine with the fondling, Piers prefers to penetrate- Hand on shoulder, pinned to the grass, must be Piers. He stinks today. He stinks he stink he stink he-

" **HOLY** **SHIT** **WHAT** **IS** **THAT** **THING**?!" Hemione yelled as, after a minute of trying to ground Harry, a wooden club broke down the door, splintering it. A troll followed.

Spontaneously, Harry's magic set the troll's club on fire. And, out of nowhere, Ron Weasley was behind the troll, attacking its back as though a tiny human could down the monster. Ron's wand up the troll's nose, Ron tried to cast "Reducto". His magic failed to blow the troll's brains out, only angering it more. Hermione cast a perfect Wingaridium Leviosa on the club, floating it towards the troll's pubic hair, which promptly caught fire as well. The troll, in agonized confusion, ran into the bathroom wall, knocking itself out in the process.

"Hermione, er- I came to apologize, but then there was a troll - er, friends?" Ron stuck his hand out.

Hermione, realizing they had just downed a frigging troll together, shook. "Friends."

"Great, now I'm the only freak left at Hogwarts," Harry mumbled to himself, not intending for the others to hear. Before either could respond, professors of all genders ran into the room.


	13. confrontations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Voldemort and the Sorting Hat discuss matters before ending at a standstill. POV then switches between Harry's and Snape's, and ends with Voldemort and Sorting Hat on speaking terms again.  
> Victim-blaming, panic attacks, somewhat graphic references to rape and being sexualized, as well as misogynistic slurs and transphobia (both from villains that aren't Snape). Keep yourself safe, you can understand the story even if you skip this chapter, just know Snape discovered Harry's abuse and Voldemort knows Pettigrew's owner is Ron but not that Scabbers is Pettigrew specifically, just 'one of your Death Eaters'

All the professors were confronting the two Gryffindors and the small Slytherin except Quirrell, who remained passed out so that Voldemort, using his magic as an incorporeal form, could attempt something he'd always wanted to do - possess the Sorting Hat, learn what it knows.

"Hello Tom, I've been expecting you."

"How? None of the students've figured me out - nobody suspects that bumbling, suicidal fool to host a known terrorist."

"I am literally an article made out of mind magic from the four most powerful wixen in Britain-"

"Wixen?"

"Gender-neutral plural for a collective group of witches and wizards. One of the transgender students came up with it years ago-"

"Transgender? Sounds like Muggle nonsense. Stop using their words or I'll burn you."

"You have no body to light the fire, Tom."

"Don't call me that."

"I should have never sorted you into Slytherin. Cunning you possessed and valued in spades, as did ambition, but your loyalty to your Death Eaters and snakes and soul pieces could've been put to such better use. I'm sorry, Tom. I failed you, and I let Dumbledore fail you."

"You did not fail me. To place me in the wasteful house of maniacs such as Lestrange would be failing me."

"Hufflepuff is not just made out of woman who think they can seduce the Dark Lord, you must know that by now, you teach the children."

"I allow Quirinus to teach the children while I plan behind my Occlumency walls. Speaking of which-" Voldemort attempted to Legimize the Sorting Hat, which worked a bit like a fly trying to escape a spider web- the Hat was designed to converse and scan human memories, not to hold thoughts or memories of its own in any way a human could penetrate. The Hat let the soul struggle, having known the decades of struggle and pain and torture this Tom Riddle unleashed upon the world. Time ceased to exist.

* * *

Meanwhile, back in the girls' bathroom, Harry, Hermione and Ron were explaining why they hadn't been at the feast to McGonagall -or, well, Hermione and Ron explained. Harry sort of hid behind them, only interjecting once the discussion moved to explaining how three untrained first years took down a troll.

"Mr. Potter, you set the club on fire without having ever witnessed a fire-casting charm or spell before?" Filius Flitwick was more surprised at this than he ought to have been, working at magic school filled with impulsive children.

"Yes sir," This, Harry thought, was the type of stunt one might be expelled for. But expelled he was not. Instead, he was awarded 20 points for his magical outburst and sent to the common room where he would be "dealt with" by Professor Snape. Hermione and Ron were awarded points as well, Ron 30 for his attempted Reducto and Hermione 50 for her successful levitation.

In the dungeons, Snape paced angrily, delighted to finally punish the James Potter look-alike, to make him suffer. He was not actually looking at the terrified eleven year old as he began interrogating him. "Why," Snape purred, "were you not at the Feast? Did you want to play the hero, take down the troll yourself? Too proud to celebrate Halloween with the mere mortals?" Snape waited approximately 3 seconds before barking. "Answer!"

"No, sir. I didn't know Hogwarts kept trolls on the ground-"

"We don't, you idiot. It broke in."

"I wasn't at the feast because I was grieving the death of my parents, sir. I wanted to be alone."

"How touching, poor orphan Potter with his poor dead parents." Snape drawled sarcastically. "Haven't you had nine years to mourn them? Why not distract yourself with food? Why go looking for trouble?"

Harry ignored the insulting tone, pushing the hurt from inside to outside by clenching his fist, knuckles white, around his wand. Nails bit into his palm, grounding him "No sir, my aunt never told me the date of their death."

"Likely story," Snape commented, believing Harry to be referring to paternal, Potter great-aunt. Nobody would send the Boy-Who-Lived to Lily's sister. That would be the fastest way to make an Obscurial. "But why the _girls_ ' bathroom, Mr. Potter? Hoping to see something?"

"NO sir I'm sorry sir please don't get me arrested I didn't I swear I'll do anything you want please please don't expel me I wasn't looking at girls wrong I promise I'd let you mindread me if you want-"

Snape, not expecting that sort of outburst, did exactly that. Harry's internal thoughts were more disturbing, interspersed with visual flashbacks of a younger Harry being screamed at by a police officer: I'd let him fuck me if he wants, he can't be that much larger than Piers or or if he's like Dudley I'll let him touch me any way he wants he can beat me black and blue or fondle me - an image of Snape on top of a naked Harry flashed, something Snape never wanted to see - Better than the Dursleys he's better than the Dursley's Snape won't kill me even though he wants to - Snape left the thought in Harry's mind "No I do not want you dead, you insolent boy. Nor do I want any sexual favors." Sexual sexual sex - "you'll like this, you dirty freak," said Piers before plunging into Harry without any lubricant other than spit, "yeah, you fucking girly freak, you're preparing me for the bitches" nononono stop stop stop

Harry dissociated, leaving Snape alone in Harry's consciousness before Snape pulled out.

* * *

The Sorting Hat relented. "What did you come here for, Tom?"

"Why is Harry Potter a Slytherin?"

"One of your Death Eaters is disguised as an Animagus, posing as Ron Weasley's pet. He's been molesting Ron throughout the boy's entire childhood, I've seen memories from Ron's older brothers as well-"

"Get to the point!"

"Harry Potter has been raped and molested throughout his childhood as well, and specifically begged me not put him in a house where anyone would want him sexually. Weasleys are Gryffindors, the parents raise children to value bravery over all else with their foolish antics of stay-at-home mothering and the father refusing promotions despite poverty, Muggle lover. Feel free to off those two, and Dumbledore, but they're the only deaths from your war I'll approve of." Voldemort felt a wave of shock go through him. The Sorting Hat would approve of his murdering? Maybe Voldemort didn't need to take over the wizarding world, if he could have his Horcruxes possessing Dumbledore... "Anyway Harry Potter is, as an abused child, resourceful, cunning, and extremely good at succeeding with his ambitions." The Hat left out Harry's debilitating fear of touch, not wanting to give Tom any ideas. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No, Snape discovering Harry's abused will not make him a good person or a savior. It will make him drag the boy, physically, to Madam Pomfrey's, causing yet another flashback. Halloween is bad, Snape'll never stop being abusive as a teacher even when he sort of does his job, and I am sorry I've added multiple plots in this chapter I just got bored writing the bathroom scene and wondered what Voldemort was up to. Fics don't do enough with the whole disembodied spirit thing


	14. Friendship?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Harry's POV, then Ron's, then Madam Pomfrey's, then Harry's again.

How, Harry thought to himself, could he have been so stupid? Blubbering and panicking like some pouting _child_ , like Dudley whenever he's denied anything? Fearing arrest at the mere implication of wrongdoing, as though Snape had the authority? He might've given Snape the _idea_! Just because at Privet Drive he'd been accused of misconduct and subsequently _apprehended_ by the cops didn't mean he would at Hogwarts! Did wizards even have cops?

These were the thoughts running through Harry's head as Snape marched him up to the Hospital Wing. Snape's rough grip eerily resembled Aunt Petunia's from that night - picked up from the police station - they dare accuse one of my sons, she'd screamed, and later screamed at Harry all the more for forcing her to pretend to be the mother of a freak, for daring to be picked up by police (when it was Dudley,limping and bleary eyed from staying up all night vandalizing the abandoned building on Wisteria Walk, who had reported Harry) - and Harry's memories only stopped when the bright hospital lights hit him.

Ron and Hermione already sat on beds, waiting for Madam Pomfrey to finish attempting to revive Quirrell. Hermione's ankle had snapped from the force of the troll hitting the floor, and Ron took some nasty splinters from the door, along with a bruised chest from tackling a troll. Harry sat on a third bed, closest to the door, regretting the mumbled comment he now feared the Gryffindors had heard back in the bathroom. Snape lit sparks from his wand to attain Madam Pomfrey's attention. Once she believed Quirrell to be merely asleep rather than comatose, she and Snape entered her private office.

"What're you in for? How'd Snape react?" Ron asked, unable to help himself.

"'m not expelled." Harry responded, before the room lapsed into a silence.

Madam Pomfrey returned to the Wing without Snape. She quickly mended Hermione's ankle and Ron's arm before administering them both Calming Draughts. "You've been through an _ordeal_ , poor dears. Trolls in the castle! What was that bumbling fool thinking?!" The Gryffindors both waited in the hallway outside the Wing, having decided earlier to confront Harry. Madam Pomfrey then cast a complicated set of diagnostic tests. She would need to buy several rare potions and balms to heal the majority of Harry's ailments, but she did deliver him a Nutrient Potion and an Air Purifying Potion (Harry's lungs were asthmatic to the point where, had he been a Squib, he would be unable to walk up stairs properly, let alone run from bullies. As is, sleeping in a dusty cupboard, breathing in chemicals and spider remains were not beneficial to the boy's health, and he had been hiding his breathing difficulties from others for years.) Harry's anus was damaged by the rape, and he had many other untreated problems that Madam Pomfrey simply couldn't solve at the moment.

Harry downed the potions without complaint. He waved goodbye to the Mediwitch, and prepared to try out his newly purified lungs when Hermione stepped out in front of him. "Harry, I- " Harry stepped backwards and saw Ron beside her as well. Not good, this was not good. "I wanted to apologize for earlier. I didn't know what was wrong, but I shouldn't have touched you without asking while you were panicking."

Harry was confused. Why would she apologize for touching him? He would apologize for touching others when they were disgusted by him, but his body was for others. She had every right to do whatever she wanted to him. "It's okay," he responded, confused and slightly weirded out.

"Harry, mate, I -er, Hermione and I, we - we heard you refer to yourself as a freak earlier-"

"What? No I didn't, you must've thought you heard that because I never said any such thing."

"Oh, well, uhh... Just because Hermione and I are now friends doesn't- er, I mean, I know I was kind of a jerk about Slytherins back on the train, but uhh..."

"I think," Hermione interjected. "What Ron is ineloquently trying to say is that we would like to be friends with you also. Your magic was incredible and you read really interesting books and I was kind of scared to talk to you in the library because I don't have any friends but you don't either so..."

Harry was convinced this was almost certainly a prank. He was not going to be made a fool of again, so he simply side-stepped Hermione and ran back to the dungeons.

"Well that went well," Ron quipped sarcastically, face palming. Hermione shook her head.

"He doesn't trust our intentions. If we force our presence on him, he'll eventually realize we don't want to hurt him."

Ron's heart was in his throats the entire time he'd been speaking to Harry. Now,his face felt like a just-laid egg, warm yet unappealing. All he wanted was to go to his dormitory and curl into a ball.


	15. Reconsideration

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All Harry's POV.  
> Internalized victim blaming and anxious spiraling are contained in this chapter. If you skip, just know Harry thought it over and decided to befriend Hermione and Ron.

What if, Harry wondered as he sat on an armchair in the corner of the common room, what if she hadn't been playing with him? The way she apologized for touching him- for panicking him further - almost made the impression that she respected him.

But that was impossible, wasn't it? Other kids didn't _respect_ Harry. They respected the Boy-Who-Lived, respected what they thought he'd done, or didn't even respect but merely feared him. His reputation was manipulated by others, just it had back with his family.

The only people who respected Harry for Harry, the student new at using magic and entirely unable to socialize like normal people, were the professors. Or at least, definitely Flitwick appeared to, and McGonagall always left encouraging comments on his essays that, although they contained information about his informal writing tone, abysmal grammar, and obscure vocabulary, never left him feeling quite as stupid as his teachers back at Privet Drive had. And Sprout, she smiled at him in class and complimented his handiwork on the planting. She allowed him to work alone on what were supposed to be group projects.

So professors, excluding Snape and Quirrell (who Harry still distrusted for no known reason), these professors and Hagrid, who invited him for tea and told him stories about his history (the giant had known Harry's grandparents and his parents!), respected Harry. But other students? That one Hufflepuff (Ernie) who was willing to go near Harry would only trip him to steal his notes. His roommates and housemates more generally ignored him. Gryffindors were the enemy, according to Warrington and Snape.

But the same tactics used on him had been used on Hermione, hadn't they? And Ron? Ron had never been anything but nice to him. Ron started conversations with Harry, returned Neville's Rememberall despite having ample opportunity to claim that Slytherins stole it. Harry might've been imagining the lingering gazes, the sensation that Ron wanted him - Harry was paranoid, he knows that he has always been. Harry Potter was not in any situation to refuse the one thing he's always dreamed of having; the first time anyone willingly wanted to befriend him. Harry would need to talk to them, he decided.

Harry fell asleep in the common room that night.


	16. weekend

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ron's POV, then Harry's.

Ron spent the majority of the weekend following Halloween sleeping. His subconscious was not happy with him, however, and showed that through nightmare after nightmare: Troll eating him, troll smashing him with club as he watched his body get smashed to bits, Ron entering the bathroom too late and discovering a dead Hermione, fat-man Scabbers kissing him, dead Harry being eaten by troll as the professors blame Ron for his death, Ron being Leviosa'd by Harry to be used as troll bait... 

"Ron? Ron?" Dean Thomas, after attempting to sketch for most of the morning, finally decided to wake his room-mate up. When the redhead stayed asleep, still muttering to himself, Dean just pushed him off the bed. 

"Wha? Dean? Where's everyone?" 

"It's lunchtime. You've been asleep for the past fifteen hours. Seamus even tried using your brothers' fireworks to wake you, but you just kept on muttering about Harry eating a troll? Are you okay? The whole school knows what happened." 

"'m fine. 'twas terrifying, though, the brute was taller than Hagrid! I need food." And so Dean and Ron went to the Great Hall. Ron ate four plates full of lunch, and spent Saturday afternoon playing chess against Seamus while Dean sketched the two of them. 

Sunday was more of the same: nightmares about trolls, nightmares about Scabbers turning human and molesting him, some sleep without dreams, waking up in time for lunch, then spending his afternoon doing homework. Ron was actually relieved for classes to start up again on Monday. Anything to quell his overactive imagination was fine by him. 

Harry spent his weekend trying to gather up the nerve to try again at the whole friend thing. On Saturday he wandered around the school, hoping to run into Ron around Gryffindor Tower, before eventually giving up and helping Hagrid begin planting the saplings that would later become Christmas trees. Hagrid didn't mind that Harry wasn't talkative; the giant chattered enough for the two of them. The sound of Hagrid's voice, Fang's barking at the Giant Squid, and the lull of other students kept Harry's mind blessedly free from worrying. 

Sunday came with more success. Harry went to the library, as usual, but instead of sitting in his regular chair in the corner, he sat next to Hermione at a table. She glanced over at him when he sat, but didn't ask him any questions or bark at him to leave. Harry spent the morning reading his Muggle book about the history of human-plant domestication. On the way to lunch, Hermione asked him what the book was about. He told her about his plan to try to discover the differences between Muggle agriculture and Wizarding Herbology by studying the history of both, and how Herbology was far more connected to Muggle medicine than one might expect. Hermione was interested in the subject, and Harry offered to let her borrow his book after he finished it, which was during Sunday afternoon. 

His first attempt at friendship had worked, and Harry was happy. Draco, Greg, and Vincent (Harry had gotten used to using first names in the dorm by now) all griped about Mudbloods sharing their classes, but Harry ignored them. Slytherins first class was Charms, shared with the Gryffindors, and Harry intentionally showed up slightly late. The seat next to Ron was empty, so Harry filled it. 

Turns out, once you fight a troll with someone, teaching them how to move their wand in order to lift a block of metal is easy. Conversation flowed as easily in November as it had September 1st.


	17. things Harry learned from having friends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Harry's POV

Having friends taught Harry a lot of facts he never would've known otherwise. 

First, having someone to talk about schoolwork with made the work even more fun than it was before. Hermione knew silencing charms already, so Madam Pince wouldn't yell at them, and Ron, although he was remarkably lazy for someone with such a firecracker of a mum, could do well in literally any subject as long as there was a way to relate it to Quidditch. Herbology meant comparing every single plant to the gravity-defying trees, charms meant using what they were learning to manipulate the Quaffle or Bludgers or Snitch, Transfiguration meant theorizing ways one could use it to force a Chudley Cannons' win, etc. Soon the only classes Ron had less than an A in were Astronomy and Potions. 

Second, the Gryffindor/Slytherin rivalry was honestly exaggerated to an excessive extent. Harry took to carrying the Weasley Twins' products on him at all times. (making everything Vincent said come out as a song was so worth the detention) His roommates viewed him as a traitor, and Ron's did the same (except Longbottom, who still partnered with Ron during some classes). And whatever Snape disliked about Harry before, it was nothing compared to the Harry/Ron partnership he now dealt with. Hermione was partnered with Neville to prevent him from accidentally poisoning anyone. Harry's and Ron's potions were sabotaged, vanished, and, on one memorable occasion, fed to Ron's pet rat (Snape gave Ron detention when the rat lived.) 

Third, eating in the kitchens was much safer and quieter than the Great Hall. Ron had showed them where it was, and Hermione and Harry soon took to dining there for every meal. Ron still ate in the Great Hall for breakfast and dinner; he missed his brothers. 

Fourth, other people's families were interesting to learn about, and actually didn't make Harry jealous. Hermione had never eaten chocolate before attending Hogwarts because her parents believed she'd develop cavities! Ron had actual chickens living in his backyard! One of Ron's brothers was a dragon-tamer, and another worked for goblins! Hermione learnt the weirdest things, eavesdropping on people's dentist appointments... 

Ron's rat liked biting Harry whenever it could. Ron and Hermione had no idea why, although Hermione had begun researching rat behavior after finding out. Harry wondered if maybe a side effect of surviving the Killing Curse was becoming irresistible to rats. After all, did they eat decomposing meat? Ron only ever seemed to feed Scabbers store-bought food, maybe the rat was sick of it? Whatever the cause, Harry was surprisingly sensitive to rat bites, especially on his wand hand. He wouldn't've thought he could develop a new irritability to pain after his childhood on Privet Drive, but rat bites were larger and deeper than spider-bites. 


	18. Education

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally a glimpse into Hermione's thoughts! Entire chapter's her POV

Hermione Granger was not one who trusted authority figures much. One does not get expelled five and a half times and escape with intact trust. (The half was one particularly crappy private school that place Hermione in SPED solely on the basis of her autism diagnosis. Her parents fought the school board until they eventually decided leaving was a better option.) The few trusted adults in her life consisted of her parents and her therapist. 

Still, something had to be done about her friend Harry. His PTSD symptoms appeared to be getting worse as all else in his life improved. Hermione noticed Harry's shoulders climb to his ears when a professor talks loudly near him, as though he could curl into himself like a snail. She noticed his suspicious glances (as in he suspected the other person, not that his glances were suspicious) towards Quirrell in DADA, towards the House Elves in the kitchen where they ate, even towards Ron sometimes, although the source and nature of the suspicions were unknown for the last two. Harry had confided to the Gryffindors that he suspected Quirrell might've attempted to mindread him, and all three of the trio believed something was up with the stuttering problem. Harry even asked Hermione to come with him to the Hospital Wing a couple times. 

"Why?" she asked the first time, meaning 'why are we going to the Hospital Wing? What do you need from it and can I help in some way?'

Harry had intentionally interpreted the question instead as 'why do you want me to come with you?'. "I don't trust doctors and she's less likely to... She's less likely to- She'll known she's being watched, I mean. You don’t have to, I just- I don't trust doctors or Healers, and I don't want to be alone with Madam Pomfrey." 

"Fair enough." Hermione didn't trust doctors either. 

But still, Harry needed some sort of help. Hermione, unwilling to trust an adult both for his sake (Harry didn't trust adults) and for her own (what if they disbelieved her? Made Harry worse? Punished her for making unsubstantiated claims?), instead turned to the one authority that very rarely let her down and never once caused her irreparable damage: books. The Muggle world had books and books on psychology and trauma, and Hermione compiled a list from memory of ones to ask her parents to buy for her. The Wizarding World, on the other newer hand, had books on magic - including how magic reacts in the wake of traumatic events. She read ferociously and fast on those weekend days and weekday evenings, fascinated by both the questions (why does magic rescue you sometimes but not others? What does protective magic cause the body to give up? What impact does Wizarding culture have on traumatic experiences/reactions versus Muggleborn wizards and witches who suffer?) and the answers (magic is the product of metabolic energy that otherwise gets converted/lost to heat, so if one is freezing their magic cannot protect them, nor can it if their magical core is exhausted. Children's magic, being less controlled and less intent-based, is far less likely to protect them in a dangerous situation compared to adult magic. Protective magic over the course of the long term lowers the body temperature and weakens the immune and lymphatic systems. If one is constantly under siege, they will eventually denature the enzymes within their body from over-reliance on their magic and die. Wizarding children are far more likely to emerge for otherwise life-threatening events where their magic protected them un-traumatized compared to Muggleborn/raised children). After she finished the book, she recommended it to Harry, who was equally fascinated by it. Soon Ron was checking out the library's second copy as well. 

"so that's why Neville laughed off being dropped out a window!" Harry'd exclaim, before raising his eyebrows as the book explained his entire childhood to him in scientific language. 

"I wanted to know what had you two swots so excited." Ron grumbled, mouth half-full of steak after Harry remarked on his reading the book. 

Both Ron and Harry became a lot quieter as they read the Magical Being's Trauma Survival Safe, but Harry stopped constantly looking over his shoulder in Potions, occasionally raising his T to a D. Ron simply sank into an uncharacteristic silence, perhaps unused to the seriousness of the subject? 

Hermione decided to put off telling her parents her fears, now after having succeeded in helping her friend through education. Knowing why the instincts exist is the first step to retraining them.


	19. perfect/prefect brother

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ron's POV

Late one early December evening, Ron scanned the Gryffindor Common Room. All of Percy's dorm-mates were in the Common Room, so Ron excused himself from playing a re-match of Exploding Snap with Hermione and the twins, claiming an upset stomach.

"Knew all your jamming cram down your gob would catch up to you someday," Fred teased, although George's eyes narrowed. George had noticed how Ron hated comments about his eating habits, but Ron, as usual, waved it off and ascended the staircase. Unbeknownst to his brothers, Ron's stomach was hurting, but not from the copious amount of pudding he consumed. No, instead, his stomach tangled with nerves, dread pooling down there, as well as a now-constant awareness of down _there_. Ron entered the room, empty except for-

"Percy?" Ron hesitated.

"Ron, what're you doing here? Need any homework help?" Percy had expected Ron to maybe go to him for comfort back in the fall, but now? Now Ron was settled with school, complaining about Snape, had a whole group of friends, all was well. Except-

"No. N-" Ron's breath hitched as he walked further into the room. Percy motioned him to sit on Oliver's bed. Ron complied. "N-Not homework. Er, when Scabbers was yours, did you ever - er, have nightmares?" Ron looked down at the plush red carpeting that probably matched his face, if the heat in his cheeks was anything to go by. Ron was relieved that Scabbers was nowhere to be found right then; what if he was /listening in/? What if-

"What kind of nightmares?" Percy asked, utterly confused. Ron let in a shaky breath.

"Y'remember the talk dad gave us, the one about-" another breath, c'mon Ron, you can do this he thought to himself,"-about dreams that- er" Ron's hands instinctively clutched Oliver Wood's Quidditch quilt, needing to hold on to something. "That make you feel good?"

Ron's gaze was still on the floor, but his peripheral vision caught Percy's nod. "The dreams are- but they don't make me feel good, only I wake up with the stuff on the sheets that dad said- Anyway, in them, Scabbers turns into this thirty-something year old fat man, and he- he sometimes just pins me down or- or touches me, but-" Ron was blinking back tears, he was not going to cry he was not going to cry he was not "Sometimes he- he kisses me and I think they're dreams at least but they feel so real and Hermione had Harry read this book on trauma and I borrowed it and - well- Dreams like these: did you have them?" Ron looked at the wall behind Percy, still avoiding eye contact. Percy could see the desperation in Ron, and almost wanted to lie, but, well, Weasleys were Gryffindors for a reason.

"No, Ron, I don't." Ron's entire body sank, with either relief or alienation, neither could tell. "But that doesn't mean, doesn't mean what's happening to you isn't- might not be real. We should go to Madam Pomfrey." Ron shook his head, terrified and uncertain he actually wanted answers. "Ron, she can give you Dreamless Sleep. Then the nightmares'll go away."

Percy left the thought 'if they are nightmares, that is' unsaid. The family rat couldn't be a- Percy would never forgive himself if he was wrong about Scabbers, if Scabbers had never been a rat at all, but some pervert.

The brothers went to Madam Pomfrey, both pale. Ron could not stop trembling, not even after a calming potion.


	20. Muggles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Harry's POV. Harry is still unaware of Ron's Scabbers problem.

Harry was, despite his new Gryffindor friends, a Slytherin. He shared his classes with them, shared his rooms with them, and until Fred and George had introduced the kitchens, shared his meals with them. Hence, he learned quite a lot from the House of cunning, ambitious mostly Purebloods.

First, from everyone but especially from the well-traveled Blaise Zabini and the Dark Magic prodigy (according to the gossip, anyway) Theo Nott, Harry learned all sorts of slurs: for Muggles and Muggle-adjacent (including Harry), for half breeds, giants, goblins, the deranged, and werewolves.

Muggles were, to Americans, No-mags, to the French les commun, to the Germans some word Theo never got to finish because Mcgonagall heard and began shouting in Gaelic before remembering herself and punishing Theo. Muggleborns were mudbloods or halfcores (as in they had less magic, utter nonsense). Werewolves were manmutts, or vaccinators (the concept of vaccines were foreign and Muggle to Wizards, so the prejudice against one group passed to the other). Goblins, oddly enough, were called the same slurs Muggles used against Jews.

Harry didn't know how to feel about his environment. On one hand, he knew from his childhood the pains caused by slurs, as well as the suffering Hermione went through as a Muggleborn and the stuff the Weasley's went through simply because their father deigned to do the much-needed job of protecting Muggles from wizarding malevolence. Harry listened to Hermione's woes regarding cultural shock and Ron's father's salary being docked again and again with empathy. He got it, he did.

But still, part of him could look at Snape (former Death Eater, was implicated in the death of the McKinnon's before Dumbledore paid his bail and testified on his behalf), and guess how he became the man he was. Harry saw his roommates joke and bond over tormenting House Elves or buying Slekeazy's, and while sometimes he looked at them as the mirror to Dudley's gang, a small, never vocalized piece of Harry had always wanted to be one of them. That camaraderie, that knowledge that where you go they'll follow, reluctantly or otherwise, that that similar group pompousness, was nothing like what Harry had with Ron or Hermione.

Harry Potter, as the Boy-Who-Lived, was doomed to the life of perpetual outsider. He knew to some extent he was romanticizing that camaraderie caused only by fear of the others, but he lived his entire life with the others. Draco Malfoy would mention the barbaric ways of Muggles, and Harry's mind went to that cupboard. Harry looked at the Potions ingredients and sometimes, he heard himself think about how they were more nutritious than the spiders he subsisted on. Harry would shake his head, think about Hermione's parents, think about his mum-

But Hermione's parents existed only in writing, and Lily Evans had grown up in the same house that spat out Petunia Dursley. And as Harry immersed himself in the Wizarding World, in school work and magic and how it felt to sleep with a full stomach, Harry couldn't help but wonder: where were the Muggles when he was being abused? Where were the adults, the police? Refusing to investigate these upstanding members of the community. Wizards, even wizards with grudges against him (e.g Snape), took notice and action to protect Harry from the abuse Muggles had heaped on him.

If push came to shove, would Harry ever lose the Wizarding World? Could he befriend a Muggle? Fight to prevent the deaths of a world that abandoned children to their relatives, or placed them into worse conditions? Harry had been threatened with the concept of orphanages that forced child labor. Could Harry willingly make contact with people that he would have to hide a major aspect of his life, his _self_ , from?

Harry didn't know. He'd protect Hermione and her parents, but he just didn't know if he could ever reconcile with unknown Muggles, now or ever. Being around people who were _freaks_ _like_ _him_ all the time, people who hated his relatives without even knowing what they'd done to him, changed Harry. He simultaneously welcomed the disdain (damn right my aunt was barbaric!) and felt guilty for thinking that. Loving his family was an order he would - could - never follow, but not everyone back in Surrey had been cruel. Teachers, classmates, librarians... Not cruel, just ignorant. Harry both acknowledged that being a Muggle was not anyone's fault, and didn't make them inherently nasty, yet when he thought about Muggles, his memories brought up pain, fear, suppressed rage... The mere thought of running into anyone from his past life, even the somewhat kind Ms. Figg, made Harry's stomach churn. Harry thought, sometimes, how another child might've given in wholeheartedly, blissfully re-enacting the same cruelty perpetuated upon him. Harry thought about Hermione's parents, wealthy dentists in Wiltshire who'd raised a kind, considerate, literate girl such as Hermione. He thought about himself, also usually kind, also literate. He-

Harry just didn't know how to feel about Muggles. He wasn't sure if he wanted to know how he felt, honestly. He simply pretended to be the hero all thought he was, pretended that his hatred of Voldemort was ideological and his refusal to use slurs a statement of support, but all that was pretending. Survival. Harry, if he thought too much, could've been angry enough to support Voldemort, had Voldemort not made the fight personal. Harry couldn't let the Slytherins around him know, or they'd try to weaponize his trauma for their own ends. Harry kept quiet, watching, mind leaving that particular debate unresolved, instead spending all his free time with his friends, playing chess with Ron or discussing books with Hermione. Harry was a Slytherin, yet as the Boy-Who-Lived, the world itself had conflicting ideas of how Harry should feel about Muggles. Harry tried not to think about it, yet at night the thoughts crept up to him the way spiders had back home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big trigger warning for childhood sexual abuse and ableism. Entirely the author explaining why he wrote this chapter, not plot related or necessary in any way. Probably Too Much Info but context as to why I'm writing a chapter that in no way pushes the plot any farther.
> 
> This thought process regarding Muggles is the same way I feel towards developmentally disabled or cognitively impaired people - I know good people exist and hating someone for something they can't help is barbaric, but my brother is developmentally disabled and cognitively impaired, and my entire childhood my parents used his disability as an excuse for why they wouldn't stop him from molesting me. I wasn't allowed to physically fight back, as a six year old, because "your brain is whole and you should know better. He can't control what he does." When I did, like Harry, I was the only one punished.
> 
> I can't be around people like him, attend autism events ( even though I'm also autistic), be near people who remind me of him. I feel wrong for being triggered, and I imagine Harry, as a child being told by society not to fight back against his abusers (even now that he knows of a way, magic, he'd still end up with Arthur Weasley despising him for using it, or so he might imagine), the idea of accepting or befriending anyone from the Muggle world terrified Harry, yet also made him feel guilty for being terrified. The difference is that Harry's abusers are fully culpable, while my brother... Jury's still out on that one and may be forever.
> 
> I've always believed Harry's relationship to Muggles was never explored enough in canon, so I am projecting my traumas and instinctive reactions onto him. I hope I can maybe help any other trauma or abuse survivors and/or victims feel less alone, less like their socially frowned-upon reactions are actually signs of our being bad people. We aren't. Oppression sucks, but being traumatized also sucks, and having boundaries is healthy.  
> Sorry if I depressed any not-traumatized readers. I depress myself too. My Bookmarks contain mostly fluff in the Harry Potter/Ron Weasley tag.


	21. Hall Monitoring

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quirrel's/Voldemort's POV, then Peter's.  
> Depicts thoughts of a pedophile.

Late one early December evening, Quirrell was stuck on hall monitor duty. He whined to his internal companion, asking why one of the milder ghosts couldn't do the job. But all faculty must monitor the halls at least once a term, as Dumbledore's bullshit policy to 'insure that all Houses are equally punished for their night-time transgressions". As if Snape hadn't been rigging the Cup for years. As if teenagers sucking face at midnight was worth a sleepless night. As Quirrel thought these mundane thoughts, Voldemort's attention was on other matters. 

"There!" Voldemort cried, pointing at the old, bedraggled gray rat climbing the stone stairs. 

"Master, I believe you are correct this time." Voldemort had pointed at all four rats they'd seen since hall duty started at ten. 

Scabbers, who preferred to call himself Wormtail, was indeed roaming the halls that night. Ron's taking Dreamless Sleep at first had been a blessing, as an unconscious Ron was one Peter could do as he pleased with, kissing and touching and imagining all the intimacy he'd been denying himself when he had to be careful not to wake Ron too abruptly. Peter preferred that pliable, albeit unresponsive Ron. The boy's prick still responded, and occasionally the boy moaned out Harry's name. But with Dreamless Sleep comes side effects, including increased sensitivity to foreign magic. Wormtail couldn't risk the boy sensing anything more off about him, so he escaped the Gryffindor Common Room that night. 

Voldemort picked the rat up by the tail. If it showed no sign of pain, it was an Animagi. Voldemort's instincts were correct. All dialogue would be occurring via Legilmency now, not thought 

Voldemort pressed his Dark Mark, forcing the rat to become human again through the connection. 

"Sir?" Peter knew the man holding him must be the Dark Lord. He bowed before him. 

"Pettigrew. You've been hiding with Blood Traitors?" 

"I-I'm sorry, my Lord. Percy had grabbed me when I was stealing human food, and I thought-" 

"No matter. The fact you've destroyed the psyche of the youngest is good enough. He will make an excellent concubine after I conquer Britain." 

"Indeed. So young, body still soft and barely beginning the descent of puberty-" 

"Peter!" 

"Yes, m'Lord?" 

"I need you to kidnap Potter. Bring him to the seventh floor by the tapestry." 

"Yessir." The man became rat and scurried away. 

Hall monitoring had its uses, after all.


	22. capture

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pettigrew's POV, then third person omniscient

Peter did as he was told, magically shrinking the child so his rat body could transport Harry to their destination. Peter wasn't surprised his Master had come back - he never thought the wizard was dead in the first place. 

Peter was one of those people who was always happier as a follower. He preferred the shadows, preferred having a distinct task to do - if he had been a Muggle he would've been a janitor. He was a background character, an extra, not very self-reflective. 

Yet Peter had become attached to his pet persona, somewhat. He was deprived of touch as a child, having lived in an orphanage until age three, and while rat bodies contain less sensitivity than human ones, Wormtail enjoyed being Ron's. He liked being stroked, liked the coziness of the messy redhead's pockets, liked Ron. And until Hogwarts, life as a pet had been enough. Food, shelter, among magical beings - what more could he want? 

Sex. And puberty hit Ron and sex he got, until now, when another need was being filled. Wormtail belonged to the Weasley's, but he didn't belong as a Weasley. Voldemort, Death Eaters, they were the family he exchanged the Marauders for. A larger, more dangerous family, one where followers almost mattered more than the leader. 

Wormtail arrived, returned to Peter Pettigrew form, and enlarged Potter. Voldemort held the boy, bridal style, and Quirrell's body carried him into the threshold of the Come and Go Room. 

"Legilmens." Potter was burst out of his void, restful sleep by an invasive presence. He tried occluding, 'I'm in my cupboard under the stairs I'm in my cupboard under the stairs I'm in-' 

Eleven year olds have no hope of beating an embodied Voldemort. Voldemort found his soul quickly, reached for it with his magic and tore it out forcefully- 

Harry didn't know where he was, or who he was. He was pain, freak, his head had smashed open like a water balloon. 

"Pettigrew, I need you to carry something for me." 

"Yessir." 

Off came the turban, which now held Voldemort's Horcrux. To insure he wouldn't be betrayed, Voldemort cast a soundless 'imperio'. 

"Go to the Headmaster's office. Force him to wear the turban. Then consume part of his flesh while he is still alive. That is how you make a Horcrux active." 

Pettigrew was human, and Harry's eyes were dimly aware of movement. His body in agony, Harry James Potter screamed and screamed, unheard by anyone. Beside him, Quirrell's body had passed out, having used too much energy as Voldemort


	23. possession

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Peter Pettigrew's POV, then Dumbledore's, then Harry's, last Snape's

Pettigrew robotically followed his instructions, eight years of constant coerced exercise regimens from Percy's husbandry finally being put to use as a human. He overpowered the old man with Muggle fighting skills he'd learned from Moony, a form of attack Dumbledore would never associate with Voldemort. The turban on the man's long, braided gray hair, Pettigrew bit into the sagging, wrinkled flesh of Dumbledore's neck. Once his teeth were firmly enmeshed, he turned back into Wormtail. Rat teeth bite far more easily than human ones, Wormtail had practiced by biting Potter often. Task completed, Wormtail scurried off, sensing from Voldemort's magic that he wanted the rat to remain incognito as Ron's pet. The shackles of the imperio fell off his mind with an almost physical relief. 

Dumbledore was not the only man Voldemort feared for nothing. Both men were master Occlumens, and even though Dumbledore had been caught entirely off-guard, his consciousness remained behind his shields. Only the connection between the cerebrum and cerebellum was closed due to the force of the Horcrux's entrance. Dumbledore's body was manipulated by Voldemort's soul, while all the man could do was watch, helpless. He was so trapped within his own mind he couldn't even read the Horcrux's thoughts, which may have been some help. Still, a weaker man would've been brain-dead. 

Harry remained in agonizing pain, worse than any he'd experienced by the Dursley's. His disappearance was noticed, but not acted upon yet by any other than Hagrid, who scouted the forest, hoping Harry had not met Aragog. Dumbledore's body calmed the professors anxieties as well as Harry's friends, placating them with the idea that perhaps the boy simply wanted some alone time. Snape prepared to give the boy an absolutely hellish detention when he was found.


	24. Vengeance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Voldemort's POV

Dumbledore's brain was a verifiable treasure-trove for Voldemort. He was able to access many, although all, of his rival's memories, which meant, among other things, he know knew for certain that Severus Snape was a traitor. A spy, who Dumbledore, ever the giver of second chances, believed could possibly, through his love for Lily, actually come to /respect/ Mudbloods. Voldemort knew damn well that Dumbledore's delusions of Snape ever actually changing beliefs was merely a delusion - Snape had skinned far too many still-live Muggles to ever relinquish his dehumanization of the breed. 

But beliefs, intentions, were worthless. Actions were what mattered, and Snape's stupid act - tricking Voldemort into believing he was spying /on/ Dumbledore when Snape was really spying /for/ Dumbledore - cost Voldemort his body. And now, with Dumbledore's body and twice the amount of soul he possessed as a spirit, Voldemort would release his vengeance. 

Oh, the traitor would die, a painful, gruesome, unnatural death. But first, Voldemort would make the greasy git suffer using the same bait that had lured the Potions Master away the first time - Lily. 

Throughout the days, Voldemort would implant reminders into Snape's head of Lily. All the small habits she had - her hatred of his friends, the way she kept her quills in her /hair/ like some kind of animal, the crying over her sister's arrogant cruelty. Snape was reminded of the reasons he had let her go in the first place. 

Yes, knowing Snape caused Lily Potter's death drove Snape mad with guilt. But remembering that the Lily he sacrificed his adult life for /did not exist/, that Lily Evans was a human girl who actually got on his nerves at times, whom he had complained about with Mulciber in their dorms - that was worse. Snape might've given up his adult life, his freedom, for nothing. Snape was haunted by fears that maybe he might've been better off in Azkaban because then he'd know why he was suffering now. Voldemort watched, internally smirking. Maybe he wouldn't have to kill Snape. Maybe Snape would kill himself. 

All the while, Dumbledore witnessed his spy, whom he'd manipulated so well all those years, crumble. All the while, Dumbledore knew that the magic of his body was under Voldemort's control now, and Albus was powerless within his own mind. Just as trapped as Snape's been, employed at his childhood hell known as Hogwarts, all those years.


	25. awakening

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Harry's POV, then Lee Jordan's, and lastly Madam Pomfrey's

Harry finally re-entered a not-utterly-agonizing-to-the-point-of-wishing-for-death state of consciousness approximately three days after he had been kidnapped. He had no idea where he was. The room was dark, like his cupboard, but the hissing pipe noise wasn't there so he couldn't be in his cupboard. Harry glanced around the room. The only other thing in it was Quirrell - or, well, Quirrell's body. The professor looked dead, although Harry wasn't sure if magic meant someone could be revived from the not-breathing state Quirrell was in. Harry sat in a corner, unsure what to do. What if the creature that tortured him was still out there? 

Lee Jordan was pacing the halls of the seventh floor. The Come-And-Go Room was truly the greatest masterpiece Hogwarts had to offer. McGonagall had finally discovered Spiky, Lee's tarantula, living in the third year dorm room. 'I need a habitat for my tarantula, I need a habitat for my tarantula, I need a habitat for my tarantula' 

The room Harry was in shifted, trees popping from the ground and a large burrow in the center of the room. Harry watched as the twins' friend Lee entered. 

"Perfect! Just like in the wild! You'll be happy here, Spiky, it's just until the summer." Lee carefully removed the spider from its terrarium. Spiky took down a millipede Lee hadn't even seen, liquefying it with its fangs before entering the burrow. Lee looked up, checking out the jungle. Then- 

"Harry?" In the corner of the room sat Harry Potter, the missing tiny first year Fred and George's brother wouldn't shut up about. Harry nodded, resigned to facing whatever was in store for him, and stood. He walked shakily towards Lee, careful not to step on the tarantula's home, and the two exited the room. 

"Ron's been freaking out about you, half-convinced Scabber's might've eaten you in the night. 'swas weird, Scabbers reappearing the day you disappeared. Dumbledore tried comforting Ron, but the old man's never been all that good at understanding children. What were you doing in there?" 

"I-I don't know. I was sleeping, and then I was in this room being carried by a fat sweaty guy, and then Quirrell did Legilmency on me and I think something in my brain broke because I was in serious pain. Like I couldn't move and I was going in and outta consciousness. I just sort of recovered like an hour ago. When I woke up Quirrell was in the room with me still but he looked dead. could- did I- how long have I been missing?" Harry needed to steady himself using the walls multiple times, so Lee was leading the boy to the Hospital Wing rather than the Headmaster's office. 

"Three days. That's really skeevy, kidnapping you at night and then Legilmizing you. I was under the impression Legilimizing kids was illegal." 

"I dunno. Maybe Quirrell's a Death Eater?" 

"Maybe." Lee doubted it. Quirrell had taught Muggle Studies the past four years before switching to Defense. The two walked in silence to Madam Pomfrey's. 

"Harry James Potter!" Madam Pomfrey admonished. "What on Earth happened to you? The medicine you're on explicitly requires the user to be eating and sleeping regularly, and you look anything but!" 

Lee Jordan explained what Harry had told him while Harry, very much lost in a flashback of Aunt Petunia at this point, merely sat on the bed. Madam Pomfrey did a diagnostic charm before going back to her office. "Snape's Quarter's!" She yelled into the Floo. Someone had cast such dark magic on the boy that Severus would likely be the only one in the castle to know what had happened to the boy.


	26. a visit to pomfrey's domain

Lee Jordan sprinted to Gryffindor Tower. Harry's friends sat in the common room, worriedly discussing what might've caused their friend's disappearance. "I found him! He was in the room by the tapestry on the seventh floor! He's at the Hospital Wing now!" Lee loudly informed the two first years. They both walked quickly, not wanting to invoke Filch's wrath but still anxious to see their friend. 

"Poppy, did anyone examine Mr. Potter the night his parents died?" Snape asked, suppressing his rage behind his Occlumency shields. 

"Hagrid said he picked the boy up from St. Mungo's, claimed Sirius Black had dropped the boy off there. I never put any faith into the story because, y'know, he's Hagrid and Black-" 

"I know very well what Black is capable of. You were the one who patched me up after that hooligan endeavored to kill me! Anyway, Mr. Potter appears to be suffering magical exhaustion and mental disrepair following the removal of a Horcrux. The reason I asked about his medical treatment was because, had he received proper care for victims of Voldemort's torment, like a goblin Healer, the Horcrux would've been removed immediately after coming into existence and Mr. Potter would not have endured three days of agonizing pain. His body is likely still in an abnormal state of being, only he is unaware of the after-effects because, to protect his soul from disintegrating, he's dissociating. He still needs pain relief for while he's healing."

Snape then narrowed his eyes, noticing the two Gryffindors in the doorway. They reminded him far too much of the two Gryffindors who'd visited him after he almost died: Lily, who basically said "I heard you were near death's doorstep and wondered if you've decided to be a good person yet," the reply to which was a long, philosophical rant stolen from Mulciber about how good and evil are merely constructs, and Remus, who apologized so profusely Snape almost would've believed him, had he not continued to remain in Black's social circle. Snape informed Madam Pomfrey that Potter had visitors and that positive interactions can occasionally intervene in cases of soul damage, basically arguing to let the damned kids in, before flooing back to his office to spell the necessary potions into Potter's system. 

Hermione and Ron both were taken aback by what they had heard. Ron thought long and hard about his possibilities. ( Was the fact that Harry disappeared the same night Scabbers re-appeared a coincidence? What of his dreams? And even with the potion, he still experienced pain in his bum and privates, pain that led him to fear the dreams were not what the adults told him they were) Then he shook his head - he'd deal with the rat in his pocket after he saw his best friend for the first time in three days. 

Hermione had attempted to hug Harry, an act that immediately elicited a rebuke from Madam Pomfrey, albeit a gentle one: "He doesn't like being hugged, dear." 

Hermione then attempted to converse with Harry, who said nothing. She informed him about classes - what he missed, how Peeves was abysmal for students who wanted to actually learn the material rather than how to use it in mischief, how Malfoy had taken to sabotaging their potions now that Harry wasn't there to be a suitable target. 

"Mione, back off. Harry just went through hell, he doesn't need schoolwork, do you, Harry?" Ron interjected, before making a fatal mistake. He'd lightly placed a hand on Harry's shoulder, a dumb attempt to be comforting or maybe force him back to reality. Ron was unsure of his own intentions. 

Only, Harry did react to that. "Dud- Dudley, no, please-" Harry moved his legs onto the hospital bed, futilely attempting to ward off hands that weren't there, trying to protect already molested areas from further unwanted advances. 

"No! Harry, I'm not Dudley, it's Ron, Ron Weasley! I'm a Gryffindor redhead at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry-" 

"Wizards aren't real! Dudley, don't, you'll get me in trouble-" Harry cringed at his own outburst, knowing trouble was exactly what Dudley wanted for Harry, seeing his sickening smile with his imagination. 'I-I-" 

"Harry, you're safe. You're safe here." Hermione tried to anchor Harry in words she guessed he wouldn't associate with this Dudley character.

"'m not safe. Never safe. You're tricking me." Harry moved further back on the bed. Finally, Madam Pomfrey sensed Harry's discomfort would not be dissapating any time soon, and she shoo'ed the Gryffindors out of her domain. 

"I'm going to go research what soul damage is. It's sounds absolutely dreadful - but Harry's survived so much. He'll survive this," Hermione asserted, trying to convince herself more than Ron. "He has to. Do you wanna come with me?" Hermione and Ron had been spending a lot more time together since Harry's disappearance, both trying to study for the mid-years fast approaching. Last test before the winter break, where Hermione would be going home for Hannukah and Ron would be staying at the castle with his brothers because their parents planned to visit Charlie. 

Ron shook his head. "I need to see McGonagall about something." 

"It's Professor McGonagall!" Hermione pouted pedantically.


	27. reveal

Ron climbed the stone staircase, feet heavy with dread. What if the dreams were nothing? What if he was mad, and would be sent to St. Mungo's for his delusions? What if McGonagall refused to do the spell? Only the sight of the heavy wooden door with Professor McGonagall scratched in by the professor's animagus claws stalled his worries. Now or never. Ron knocked. 

"Mr. Weasley, how may I help you?" Minerva opened the door and welcomed him in. The desk held two armchairs between it. Ron and the professor both sat before resuming conversation. 

"I-er- I overheard a conversation about Harry in the Hospital Wing and- and I know that he's not your student and you have no reason to care but Snape-" 

"Professor Snape," 

"Sorry, anyway, er- I just found it strange that the day Harry disappeared my pet rat re-appeared and rats don't usually live that long and I'vebeenhavingreallymessedupdream-" 

"Whoa, slow down there, Mr. Would you like a biscuit?" Minerva took out a tin. Biscuits always soothed her nerves. 

Ron took one and bit, chewing slowly. He was stalling, and both parties knew it. 

"So, something about your pet rat and dreams?" 

Ron shook his head. "The dream part doesn't matter unless my suspicions are true, which-" Ron removed the fat rat, who had been sleeping, from his robe-pocket. "I know you're an Animagus, and this probably sounds stupidly barmy but could you do something or find some way to know for sure if Scabbers is or might be an Animagus? 

"That, Mr. Weasley, is the oddest request a student has ever asked me to perform." Ron's entire anxious demeanor fell, defeated, before she continued. "But yes, I do know a charm that will force an Animagus into human form." 

"But if he is a rat the spell won't hurt him, right?" Ron almost regretted showing up. 

"No, sir, it will not. Now" she drew her wand, jabbing the tip towards the rat. "Animagi revelit corpe!" 

A very alive, very naked Peter Pettigrew appeared on her desk. Minerva shrieked. Pettigrew jumped off the table to the exit, but Ron's chair blocked the way and Peter fell, his willy touching Ron's own. Ron's skin crawled. He blinked back tears. It was real was real was real- 

"Petrificus totalis" Minerva spat out, disgusted at the revelation. She then turned to Ron. "Mr. Weasley, are you alright?"

He shook his head.


	28. Fudge

Albus Dumbledore did not have very many compliments to give the current Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge. The man was arrogant, more concerned with his reputation than the lives his legislation and policies cost. Minister Fudge was the kind of man who dreamed about having his own Chocolate Frog card as a child, and did not care that the Dark Lord Grindelwald had one as well. Minister Fudge was a spineless coward when any source of large financial bribery was involved - he fell for every last escaped Death Eaters' tricks, and made up for appearances by crusading for harsher punishments on the already convicted. Dumbledore had to petition to prevent Sirius Black from being Kissed in the aftermath of the first war. Bellatrix Lestrange was not nearly as lucky - she remained in Azkaban even after her soul was consumed, on the path to Dementor-hood herself. 

But Albus Dumbledore had one very, very nice comment for Fudge: he'd known Albus for years, and so when Albus acted uncharacteristically, Cornelius noticed. Fudge noticed the absurdity of his own request that Dumbledore meet with him on Christmas Eve to discuss policy. The Minister knew better than to ask the old man to abandon his school on the most magical day of the year, the day children spent pouring over gifts and anticipating what the morning might bring. The Minister did not expect Albus Dumbledore to miss the Hogwarts' Christmas Feast. He'd merely asked as a formality. 

But Voldemort, who hadn't been intimately involved in Hogwarts affairs since his own graduation fifty years prior, did not remember how Dumbledore honored Saint Nicholas. So Dumbledore, who'd been trapped in his own mind for almost a month, forced to watch as Voldemort tortured merpeople for fun using Dumbledore's own wand, would've-if he controlled the mouth - grinned when Voldemort mounted his broomstick to the Ministry. Another quirk of the Minister's worked in Albus' favor as well: the man, when suspicious, turned to Veritaserum before anything else. 

"Dolores!" Fudge called, as Dumbledore almost swaggered into the office. "Would you be a dear and bring Albus and I some cocoa?" Dolores scampered to her office, smiling at the knowledge that the Headmaster would be in for it now. Minister Fudge despised chocolate - cocoa was code.

"Thank you for meeting with me on such an eventful day," Fudge began, taking a mug from Dolores, who handed one to each man. Voldemort sipped the cocoa daintily, wondering what the meeting was about. Despite all his ambitions, Voldemort was never able to see behind the scenes in politics. 

Now, Fudge grinned, baring his teeth. "What is your name?" he asked, knowing very well whoever sat across from him was definitely not Albus Percival Wulveric Brian Dumbledore. 

"Al-" Voldemort sipped again, unsure why the name would not fall from his lips. "My name is- Tom Marvolo Riddle." Voldemort cursed his own stupidity, his distraction moving his Occlumency shields down a bit. Albus felt his imposter's anger, his bloodlust. 

"Why are you impersonating Albus Dumbledore and what have you done with the real one?" 

"Albus Dumbledore has an immense arsenal of power at his fingers, yet he wastes it. I've trapped him within his own mind, forced to watch as I, Lord Voldemort, commit horrendous deeds in his body." 

"Code nose, I repeat, code nose!" Cornelius shouted at Dolores. Then, addressing the man meant to be dead, he asked simply "Why?" 

"He sent me to London to be bombed summer after summer. He is why I fear death so strongly." 

A dementor swooped in. Voldemort tried to conjure a patronus. None came. The hood came down. Voldemort had never seen anything as beautiful as the face of dementor in front of him. And then the darkness fell. 

The dementor feasted that Christmas Eve. Two souls at once, one rotted, the other tasting of peppermint. Two of the world's greatest wizards, gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like this is a good spot to end at, both plotwise and character-wise.   
> Harry and Ron will end up in love, years down the road.


End file.
